Reflections
by believeinthegods
Summary: The past is a guide, not a hitching post.' H/G


_R e f l e c t i o n s_

_Set in the year after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry and Ginny have been reuinted and are all back, at Hogwarts, ready to start to rebuild their lives. But echoes of the past still hurt - and can be lurking where you never expected..._

"_**The past is a guide – not a hitching post" - **__**L. Thomas Holdcroft**_

* * *

"_The rebellion of the Asian goblins had a great impact on the West – primarily because of the direct involvement of several thousand Serbian wizards, whose reputation for self preservation prior to the event was universal, and who marched across Europe and launched a devastating attack upon the unsuspecting West…"_

Ginny sighed, twiddling her quill in one hand and looking absently out of the window, Professor Binns' monotone drone like a lullaby setting in the air and casting a drowsy, groggy air about the place.

History of Magic. Her one lesson without Harry, and she hated it. Who cared about the past when they were living in the present? Her gaze flickered over to Hermione, who was sat, pen in hand, listening intently to Binns' lecture, scribbling frantically on what looked like her fifth scroll of parchment. Ginny smiled to herself and looked back out of the window. As much as she liked Hermione, there were some things of which the two could never see eye to eye.

Her eyes skimmed the lake, falling finally upon the large maple tree beside it. She could picture him down there now, with her, where she would sit and think how about how she would much rather spend a lifetime with him than a thousand alone. _Alone, with no Harry._

More than anything, she wondered how on earth she understood her – nobody else seemed capable of doing so, not nearly as well as he did. He could look at her and he'd _know_, somehow. He could make her blush with a glance – make her laugh with one tiny smirk; make her tremble with one hand running gently down her cheek… She sighed, glancing at the clock and groaning inwardly.

_"The attack was spearheaded by Hussain el-Khalid, who was a fearsome Serbian sorcerer with supreme magical talent – he is, in folklore, idolized as the hero of the Battle of Khan-il-Habir, having selflessly plunged into battle after leaving behind his true love, a young Iranian girl, so that is comrades could prevail in defeating their Western enemies…"_

Ginny sat up, her eyebrows furrowing as she contemplated Binns' words. She shuddered, but he was unable to let gaze slip out of the window once more; something about the story had caught her off guard…

Binns' face was expressionless as he continued. "_The victory was generally acknowledged to be a turning point for Asian wizards everywhere – by succeeding, they secured the general - _Miss Whitby, do you have a comment?"

Ginny had raised her hand. She saw Hermione turn to look at her, puzzled, but she didn't hesitate.

"What happened to her? Iranian girl?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear and sitting up straighter. Binns blinked once at her. She wouldn't be surprised if she was the first to comment on his lecture, for several hundred years.

"Hussain," Binns said slowly, his ghostly face contorting into a frown, "died. In battle. In fact, it was his death that finally ended the war. The girl, I believe, who was left behind when Hussain went to battle, took her life soon after his death, unable to bear the thought of living on, without him."

Ginny was silent. To her horror, her eyes stung as she glanced away. She hastily blinked back her tears. She could see people starting to turn around, to peer nosily at her. Binns glanced at her once before opening his mouth to continue. "As I was saying…_the victory – _do you have something more to ask, Miss Whitaker?" he added, with an air of someone who was finding her rather tiresome. _Miserable old sod. _

"Do we know the girl's name, professor?" Ginny was alert now – tense, her need for the answer becoming almost obsessive; why did she feel attached to someone she had never met or even heard of before? "So I can look her up, I mean?"

Binns paused, his face bemused. "She is not of significance in your studies, Miss Wallaby. She played no major role in the battle, and brought her fate upon herself."

"By falling in love with a hero!"

"By believing, like so many fools before her, that love conquers all!" Binns said heatedly, flattering his ghostly clothes to no avail. "Miss Wendell, I would strongly advise you not to speak out of turn, especially if you wish to question my knowledge of the subject."

Ginny was undaunted. "But sir, don't you think that she _did _play an important part? They say behind every great man stands a woman, don't they?"

Binns raised a pallid eyebrow. "I am left clueless as to what you are referring to, Miss Walker. Now if you'd please turn your attention to –"

Ginny swallowed – she felt electric and daring, "I mean, she gave up the man she loved for the greater good. She could have been selfish and kept him all to herself, couldn't she? But she allowed her own life to be sabotaged for the sake of others…"

Binns sighed. The class was watching Binns and Ginny like a tennis match, paying rapt attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny thought she saw Romilda Vane mutter something scathingly to her neighbour, and they both lapsed into giggles. Ginny felt her face redden, but she didn't say anything, or by any gesture show she had seen them.

"I am not a fantasist, Miss Wallis," Binns said wearily, turning to the chalk board and staring intently at it. "I do not believe in this fluffy, romantic nonsense –"

"I'm not a fantasist either!" Ginny exclaimed, and she suddenly found herself on her feet, her eyebrows furrowing angrily, "But I know what love can do and I know it takes a whole of guts to give up your life like that, and if history can't remember those people then I see little point in remembering anything else!"

Binns' face seemed to turn a tint of red as she spun around, his eyes narrowed furiously. "Are you questioning my knowledge of magical history, girl?"

"I'm saying that it seems your selective, discriminative history is not worth knowing at all!"

"Detention, Miss Weaver!" Binns cried, and he was practically shaking with fury. "You will take a detention slip to your head of house - I will not have my subject criticized so openly and with such ridiculous unfounded evidence disregarded so callously!"

He hurried to his desk and pointed his wand at a scrap of parchment, which immediately filled with an untidy scrawl and which he thrust towards Ginny, his ghostly hand trembling.

Her face a bright red, Ginny walked towards him and took it, maintaining eye contact with the ghost at all times until she turned towards the door. She passed Hermione, who shook her head ruefully, her eyes pitying. Ginny kept her mouth shut and opened the large oak door, letting the door swing shut behind her as she ran down the corridor – adrenaline and fury in every pace.

Only when she arrived in front of Professor McGonagall's office did she stop, her eyes gazing steadily at the door in front of her. Taking a steady breath, she knocked three times on the door and waited.

"Enter, please."

Ginny pushed open the door and stepped into the office. It was a handsome room, littered with parchments and scrolls, portraits and many hundreds of books – but Ginny could not help wonder why, as head teacher, she did not use the head teachers' study.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her scroll, her eyes narrowed critically. "Can I help you, Miss Weasley?"

Wordlessly, Ginny handed her the parchment. The professor sighed and shook her head, her lips forming a tight line. "A detention will not aid you in your plight for the Quidditch Cup, Miss Weasley, will it?"

"I know," Ginny said dolefully, but she did not hang her head – she still, after everything, had retained her dignity, if nothing else. "I'm sorry, professor."

McGonagall was silent for a few moments before she looked up, surveying Ginny with her lips pursed. "What were you given the detention for?" Her tone was reserved and restricted, and she did not look up from the parchment as she spoke.

"I…." Ginny paused, but could see no point in lying. Her eyes flickered once towards the window and she thought of Harry – her face flushed with shame. "We were studying Hussain el….something in History of Magic and the Iranian girl he…left behind, who killed herself. Binns – _Professor _Binns said that her role wasn't significant enough to be remembered. I said the whole subject wasn't either."

Silence fell again. Ginny waited patiently as Professor McGonagall sighed and stood, moving over to the window at the other end of the room slowly.

"Ginny…" She frowned, and did Ginny; she had never been on first name terms with the professor before, even the midst of the war last year.

"You're a truly remarkable young woman," Professor McGonagall said quietly, shaking her head slowly once more, "But you must learn, Ginny, that there are some things that only those who have experienced them can truly appreciate."

"I don't know what you mean, professor." But Ginny's voice broke half-way through the sentence and she bowed her head, a familiar feeling washing over her, like a distant memory echoing back through her mind.

Professor McGonagall looked at her carefully, her gaze reminiscent and perhaps a little melancholy. "It is not pure coincidence you took interest in this particular girl, child. Think on that, and try not to think ill of me for speaking of this."

She nodded curtly – a dismissal. Ginny simply turned on her heel and left, hurrying down the corridor as quickly as she could. She could hear the bell echoing from the clock tower somewhere above her and so she headed for the lake, taking advantage of the momentarily empty corridors and never stopping to catch her breath as she ran, down through the school grounds, her head spinning.

When she reached the lake she dropped to her knees and looked out across the water, her breathing ragged and heavy. She pulled her hair bobble out and let her long red hair fall about her shoulders. The world seemed so grey and _cold_, even though she knew the sun sat high in the sky, somewhere above her. She just knelt, alone by the water, letting the minutes pass as she remained motionless.

"Gin?"

His voice seemed far away, yet she didn't look from the lake as she heard his footsteps approach. She felt him kneel beside her and hesitantly tuck some loose hair behind her ear; she knew his green eyes were scanning her face, but her face did not feel the familiar blush on her cheeks.

"She could have been _me_," Ginny whispered, and her voice broke once more. She closed her eyes – his arms slid around her and brought her gently to him. She pressed her face to his shoulder tightly and knelt in his arms, feeling as if she were breaking into a million pieces all over again.

She lost track of time – she could have stayed there for minutes, hours, days, feeling cold and numb and stricken. After a while Harry released her. She glanced downwards, unable to meet his gaze. She felt so vulnerable, so flawed and ashamed.

"Gin?" he asked once more, his voice hesitant. She sighed slowly, her breath still shaky. She unfolded the detention slip and handed it to him. His gaze dropped to the parchment, reading quickly.

"What was the detention for?"

She was silent for a moment.

"I want you to know something," she said in a whisper, and her hand reached for his; his fingers toyed with hers and she studied them steadily. "And I don't want you to feel sad or at all guilty. You just…have to know, okay?"

He nodded, his green eyes searching for hers.

"If you hadn't…_ come back_ –" She felt him stiffen for a fraction of a second, before he sighed and nodded once. "…. Harry, I need you to know what I would have done…and why. There was this Iranian girl in this war, hundreds of years ago. And she…she feel in love with a hero, but he had to leave her behind to go into war."

Harry's face remained unreadable, expressionless.

"But he never came back," Ginny whispered, her voice trembling, "He never made it back to her, and so she killed herself, because she couldn't bear the thought of living without him." She looked up and let one hand run the length of his face, her eyes meeting his for the first time. "That would have been _me_. I would have done that, if you hadn't come back. I could never – I wouldn't…"

He shook his head, and for the first time she could see that he was in pain – she could see it in his eyes and she didn't finish her sentence, simply letting a tear roll down her cheek as she watched him. As her hand fell from his face he caught it and held it, his eyes saying a thousand things wordlessly.

"You had to know," she said simply, biting her lip. And for the first time, he smiled sadly, his eyes fixed upon hers.

"I know," he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair from her face carefully. "I think…I think I understand, Gin. I just…"

"It seems you're the only one who _does _understand," she said with a shake of her head and a sigh, thinking again of the disregard Binns' had shown towards the girl and feeling that cold flush of pain once more.

He traced her cheek carefully. "Maybe it's okay if we're the only ones who understand. They don't need to know. They'll never know, Gin…and in a way," his face looked slightly pained once more, "I wish you didn't, too. If I'd known that I…"

She smiled too, now, the warmth of the day spreading through her fingertips once more. "I'm glad I know," she said quietly, her voice only a little louder than the wind blowing the autumn leaves around them. "It's only made me love you more. Do you…do you know what I mean"

He nodded, and she felt her face flush delicately. "Could I love you anymore, though?" he said, the vaguest trace of a smile in his words. "D'you think that's possible?"

"Oh, I hope so," she said softly, before her lips brushed his and the sun's warmth spread through her once more.


End file.
